


Summer Always Wins

by Duckay, Neffectual



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexist Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8644981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckay/pseuds/Duckay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: Summer Rae has always seemed defined by the men in her life. Really, she defines them, and is the driving force behind all of their careers and love lives. Or at least, she likes to think so.





	1. Like A House On Fire

_ The Draft. Summer was drafted to Raw, happy in her red shirt, left comforting a worried Tyler and Fandango, who were scared they wouldn’t be together.  _

_“What if we’re together, but we’re on SmackDown?” Tyler asked, resting his head on Summer’s shoulder as he clutched Fandango’s hand. “Won’t we be mortal enemies then?”_

_“You’d better hope not,” Summer said, grinning and stroking Tyler’s hair, making sure to go with the grain of his ponytail, in order to keep from mussing it, “because you don’t want to get on my bad side, do you?”_

_Eventually, of course, Tyler and Fandango got drafted as a tag team, to SmackDown Live._

_“We’re… together,” Tyler said, mouth open in shock as Fandango wrapped his arms around him tightly, pulling him close. “They didn’t split us up.”_

_“What did I tell you?” Summer asked rhetorically, with a flick of her hair. “You’re too good a pair for anything to come between you.”_

* * *

  
Summer thought she’d seen him a few times before she figured out he was a wrestler. Oh, nothing up close, no actual introductions, or she’d have googled any name she didn’t know so as not to appear rude at a social engagement, but just as a face, somewhere in the steam room, or browsing the canapés, or elegantly lifting a flute of champagne from a tray. She hadn’t realised who he was until August, when she’d finally got five minutes to herself to catch up on what was going on down in developmental, just in case there was someone there waiting to steal her spot on the main roster. And there he was. Stalking down to the ring, announced as having a seasonal residence - Summer took one look and knew that she’d seen that face at a charity gala just the other week, topping a stunning suit he was loudly proclaiming as a one of a kind from Italy to anyone who would listen. The nouveau riche, Summer thought, with a shake of her head, always so ready to tell people when they’d found something good, rather than to think to keep it to themselves.

Obviously, she had to make this boy her business. He wasn’t actually attractive, as far as she felt, but he played at being attractive, and she knew that game well enough, oh yes indeed. He seemed like just another brainless idiot, too much muscle and not enough thought, but she had to see for herself whether he was going to be any use to her. After all, NXT properties tended to do well on the main roster, and while dating Fandango had its upsides - namely the things he could do with his hips and the glamour of his entrance - it was never too early to be looking for something new, just in case other prospects fell through. Summer was many things, but she wasn’t as stupid as she looked. That would have left her with an IQ low enough that she’d struggle to open a door, but then again, this brainless little thing seemed to be doing fairly well for himself, for all that he was obsessed with his own face. Wrestling seemed like the wrong career move for a model, she thought, and then laughed at herself. After all, wasn’t that what they’d said about her, too?

The next gala, she made an extra effort with her dress, finding something a little more couture than her usual offerings, something she’d worn for a shoot a couple of weeks ago, in a spread that wouldn’t be out for another month, by a designer whose name she’d forgotten - but she’d remembered what the dress did for her figure. She spotted him in a corner, surrounded by people, but not actually speaking to any of them, and swept over.

“Well, well, Tyler Breeze,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Very impolite of you not to introduce yourself to a fellow wrestler in high society.”

He looked at her, and blinked slowly, an old trick to make himself look more sultry, when he was just giving himself time to think. Good grief, he was so green she could see the grass growing on him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know you,” he said, and Summer fought to keep her face even, not to stomp her foot, huff, and storm off in the other direction. “Are you one of the new developmental divas?”

“In this company?” Summer asked, gesturing to the party around them. “You think any of them can afford this sort of outfit?” Tacky, talking about how much her dress cost, but then, this boy was the dictionary definition of tacky, glitter on his jacket lapels and on his shoes, a pink silk shirt and a lime green cravat of all things. It shouldn’t have worked, and on anyone else, it wouldn’t have, but on him…. Well, on him, somehow the sheer arrogance of it made it almost a statement, rather than a mistake.

“Oh, I see,” Tyler murmured, and blinked again, cat-slow and obvious as he flicked his eyes down to her breasts, which she had to admit were doing sterling work. “You want a leg up into NXT. No. I’m not in the habit of using my position to help others.”

“And yet, a charity gala,” Summer said, drily, but she almost couldn’t help but like the boy. At least he was honest about it all. “And I hate to tell you this, but I could be using my position to help you, rather than the other way around. But as you said, it’s not like either of us is in the habit of helping people other than ourselves. Bad luck, Tyler. You could have made a friend of Summer Rae.”

With that, she went to walk off, but he was faster, and moved in front of her - but, she noticed, he didn’t reach to touch her. Clever boy. Or perhaps the stories of what she’d done to the last man to touch her without permission had travelled. It was difficult to do a snap suplex in heels and a ballgown, but she’d managed it. Well, it had certainly been difficult for him, not having had the training to land without doing damage to himself, but that wasn’t really her problem. Still, nice to see that Tyler had enough brains in his head to keep his distance, even when he so desperately wanted to talk to her.

“Wait, wait, you’re… on the main roster? Really?”

The incredulity in his voice stung a little, and Summer went to walk around him, but once more, he stepped into her path. Clearly the rumours hadn’t travelled far enough.

“I’ll struggle to hit a spinning heel kick in this dress, but I’ll ruin it if I have to,” she growled at him. “Now, out of my way, before I make your face more unpleasant than that awful cologne you’re wearing.”

He stepped aside, but didn’t stop talking. She got the feeling he never really stopped talking, for fear that he might hear the drivel pouring out of his mouth.

“Okay, but, I seriously didn’t know,” he said, and then paused, and the panicked look on his face was replaced by a sneer. “Oh, wait, I remember now. You walk out with that idiot who can’t dance, don’t you? A fellow wrestler? You’re nothing but eye candy.”

Summer clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palm, and told herself that she wasn’t going to slap an enormous manchild in the middle of an event for… starving orphans, or puppies, or whatever this was for. She wasn’t. No matter how much she dearly wanted to.

“Shame I can’t say the same for you,” she said, tone light and friendly. “You’re not even good enough to be that.” With that, she sidestepped him neatly and swept off to join a gaggle of her old sorority girls, easily picking up the conversation about who was sleeping with which member of their staff, and whose husband was the most tedious. She kept an eye on him, though, and noticed that while Tyler Breeze would talk to anyone who got within five yards of him, no one seemed to be interested in anything he had to say.

* * *

It took another two months before she had to deal with him again, but this time, it was for an entirely different reason. A black tie event, sit-down dinner and lots of boring speeches about why museum patronage was terribly important, and wouldn’t they all hand over their money for a lot of dead dinosaurs and some rooms full of dull artefacts. Summer had been rolling her eyes over the pre-dinner drinks, and settling into her assigned seat had only been a relief to her feet. New Louboutins were a devil to wear in, but they’d matched her dress so perfectly, she just hadn’t been able to resist.

“Now, Summer, I’m not sure if you’ve met before,” the host twittered at her, hiding a smirk behind one hand, “but I found another model who’s taken up your way of life.”

“You could make it sound a little less like I’ve taken up standing on a street corner with my ass out,” a voice drawled from behind the odious woman - Summer would remember her name when she did anything worth thinking about - in the ill-fitting gown. “And yes. We’ve met.”

Tyler motherfucking Breeze.

“Oh no,” Summer said, viciously, “I am not sitting next to birdbrain for another three hours. I’d rather converse with the triceratops skeleton.”

“But he’s a wrestler too, darling,” the host simpered, and that really was a terrible shade of lipstick on her, Summer would give her the name of her make-up artist if she wasn’t being such a bitch. “Didn’t you say that if everyone was going to blacklist you from evening soirees, you’d just dress up your co-workers and have a better-looking party all by yourselves? Well, here’s your chance - Tyler’s supposed to be very handsome.”

“I’d prefer to be pretty,” Tyler said, sharply, but sat down next to Summer all the same. What else was there to do, really, Summer thought, other than blow someone for their seat, and frankly, the only person at the table she’d consider sex with would be Tyler. And even then, only if the free champagne kept flowing, and she could convince him to be silent.

Their host bustled away as Summer rolled her eyes, but glanced over at Tyler anyhow. Anything was better than watching the backside of a woman she didn’t like very much sashay over to torture some other poor guest at this tedious function. She heard an intake of breath from Tyler.

“Don’t speak, darling, it ruins the illusion of attractiveness,” she purred, and watched his mouth close. “There we are, much better.” She sipped her wine, and tried not to look at anyone, in case they thought she was with him.

“I saw you wrestle,” he said, blurting it out like she was going to shut him up again before he could finish speaking. “Hell in a Cell, that’s… pretty cool. Winning against a Hart, too.”

“I’m not sure she counts,” Summer muttered, before she caught up with the conversation. “Wait, you watched my match? I thought I was nothing but eye candy.”

She didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but this Tyler was a far cry from the arrogant oaf she’d dealt with before, and she couldn’t help but twist the knife a little. His face was so earnest, so desperate for approval, that she couldn’t keep her claws from coming out just a little.

“I’m obviously never wrong,” Tyler said, and Summer rolled her eyes before she could stop herself, “But I may have been a little hasty in my assessment of you. Shame you lost the next night.”

Summer rolled her shoulders, which was always a good look on her, and watched his eyes completely fail to follow the motion down to her breasts. He was being unnervingly sincere, and she didn’t like it.

“That’s the business,” she said, coolly, though she couldn’t help but enjoy the expression on his face. It was the same one on the faces of little boys in the crowd as they watched their hero walk towards them, or the way little girls looked when they suddenly realised they could be anything they wanted, even wrestlers. She thought she’d looked like that, once, maybe, but not for a long, long time. It made him look impossibly young and naive - and it was maybe the first time she’d seen him look real. “How are the NXT matches going?”

The honesty in his face flickered a little as he realised she hadn’t been watching his matches, and little of the expression of the ingénue left him.

“Well,” he said, stiffly, and picked up his wine, saved from answering by the starters arriving. She didn’t press. She knew what that face meant.

* * *

 

Bumping into Tyler at the spa had ceased to be an annoyance after a month or so, and had become a way for her to talk through some of the frustrations of the business with someone who, if he wasn’t actually listening, could at least look blank well enough and make all the appropriate noises while they waited for their facials.

“And the main roster girls are fine, but if you’re not one of the Total Divas lot, then just forget it, no one gives you the time of day really, and there’s a lot of infighting, and it’s just….” she let herself trail off and adjusted her robe.

“Like high school,” Tyler finished for her, and they exchanged a look. Summer could read it all in that - they’d both been ugly ducklings, hadn’t they? And they’d both discovered makeup and confidence and the illusion of being gorgeous, and wore it like a protective cloak. A moment of understanding passed between them, and then they both resolved to pretend it had never happened. “I mean, the NXT boys are such uggos, I can barely stand to be in the same room as them.”

“The girls are so fake, it’s like sharing a locker room with a room of bitchy haunted dolls,” Summer added, tossing her head slightly and letting the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile. Tyler answered it with a smirk of his own.

“Half the guys don’t even know what nail beds are, never mind how to take care of them. I can’t believe I won’t get to go home for Christmas.” The words came out in a rush, like he didn’t mean to say them, and Summer winced as they echoed in the tiled room. There was no pulling those back, but she remembered what it had been like when she was new, and hadn’t quite got the hang of being away from home all the time. Not that anyone really missed her besides her sister.

“Part of the business,” she said, thinking of a dinner conversation a month ago, where he’d finally stopped playacting and tried being a real person. It was probably her turn, but she’d never been good at reciprocal notions - just ask any of her boyfriends about that. Thinking of that, she snapped a quick picture of herself and sent it to Fandango. Got to let the boy know what he’s missing. “If you… I mean, if you wanted, you could…. My place will be….”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t, so reached for her water and sipped it, staring out across the pool and desperately hoping that someone would call them for their treatments so she could get out of it. Fandango’s family lived close enough that he could make it home for Christmas, and he wasn’t taking her for… reasons, apparently. Well, whatever. She wasn’t going to cry over it, it made her all blotchy, and she wasn’t about to accept that.

“Can I bring my dog?” Tyler asked, softly, as if letting the sound bounce off the walls would be too much like admitting it was something he wanted.

Summer sighed.

“Sure,” she said, putting her glass back down and glancing at him. “But I don’t accept presents worth less than three hundred dollars.”

“Amateur hour,” Tyler scoffed, and stretched. “I don’t take anything worth less than five hundred.”

She looked at him.

“But, I suppose I could make an exception.” he said, and smiled. Smiled, not smirked, not the little half-smile he used when he was mocking someone and they hadn’t worked it out yet, not the blue steel he was so good at. A genuine smile. Honestly, it was the prettiest he’d ever been.


	2. Good and Intelligent Company

_ “You can’t be mad at him, Summer,” Tyler had implored her, reaching out to tug on her wrist as she made a grand attempt to whirl away in disgust. “He’s a sore loser, that’s not his fault.” _

_Her eyes narrowed, but it faded quickly. She knew her smile was vicious when it turned back to Tyler, and she raised an eyebrow at him just slightly. He looked relieved, for a second, at the smile. It was astonishing how he could have known her so long and yet still be utterly incapable of reading her face. Astonishing, but almost adorable, in a weird little way._

_“I’m not mad at him,” she promised, and that was when the moment of hesitation hit Tyler’s face. That flicker of understanding._

_“No?”_

_She shrugged her wrist lose from his hand and flashed a brighter smile that showed her teeth._

_ “If you ever call me a garbage person again, I’m getting you black-listed from that spa you like.” The words hadn’t fully sunk in when she added, an extra cruel lilt in her voice, “ The one in Los Angeles.” _

* * *

It had started out as a bad morning.

Fandango had taken offense to some totally innocent text she'd sent, because he was too brainless to comprehend tone through text or something. That had led to an argument, and telling him that she wasn't going to miss a hair appointment on his account hadn't gone down particularly well, even though he’d blown her off multiple times over the past week, not to mention before that. He'd missed their  _ anniversary _ , for crying out loud. She’d kindly chosen to not remind him of that, even though frankly the asshole had it coming. Instead she'd put on her very sweetest manner and told him that they could talk it out when she was done with the stylist. Just the slightest hint about a few choice ways he could make it up to her. God knew he hadn’t been exactly killing it in that arena lately.

She’d expected the text tone to go off while she was in the chair. A few times, even. And Twitter notifications were never that unusual, even though she couldn’t remember having posted anything of interest lately.

By the time Summer had finished in the chair, properly thanked and complimented the stylist, and paid for things, she’d almost forgotten about the stream of notifications. When she pulled the phone out of her purse, halfway to the car, her stomach went cold and she had to stop walking. Someone almost ran into her, and she didn’t even have the energy left to tell them off.

How dare he. How  _ fucking _ dare he.

It wasn’t the first time Summer had been dumped. It wasn’t the first time she’d been dumped badly, or rudely, and it wasn’t as though Fandango was some prize she’d regret losing for the rest of her days.

But  _ fucking Twitter? _

The words stared back at her from the phone screen. She could have locked the phone, thrown it away, ignored his childishness and cruelty, but a part of her was convinced that no one could really, actually have done that. But still, the words remained right there, same as they were when she first saw them. Staring her right in the face.

_ Hey, @RealSummerWWE. Did you get my text? Like I said, it's really not me, it's you. It's over… _

Having seen that, there didn’t seem much point in reading the actual text. The message came through quite clearly, after all. It was probably worth knowing about, though, just in case it was ever relevant. And if the cold fury working her way through from her fingertips to her toes was going to last, she was going to need every possible piece of information at her disposal.

If she’d seen the text by itself, she would have told every girlfriend she possessed about it over cocktails that night. Thoroughly warned them off him. Of course, she didn’t need to tell anyone now, did she? The whole world knew about their drama.

_ Don’t bother coming by tonight. It’s about time you found someone else to ride to stardom. I've found someone who can actually dance. And who isn't a selfish bitch. _

This was about the time she would have thought she’d have ordered herself not to cry over him, but somehow that didn’t feel like it was a real risk anyway. Blood thundered in her ears and she wasn’t even aware of what she sent back, how she managed to get herself to the car, much less onto the road. His words played on repeat in her mind, different intonations in his imagined voice every time.

How fucking  _ dare _ he do that to her.

Several minutes into the drive, Summer was suddenly aware that she had no idea what she was doing. Her plan for the rest of the afternoon had been to let Fandango have a nice long look at her new hair and then she was flying out. Part of that plan had been really, thoroughly ruined, but there wasn’t exactly anything else that she could do instead. Anything else she felt like doing would require a lot more time at her disposal and would probably not leave her in any fit state to fly. Eventually, she settled on just going straight to the airport. At least there was alcohol there, something to stop her hands shaking and her brain firing at what felt like a million miles an hour. God, how she'd love to ruin him. Tear him apart. Shred him to pieces.

That wasn't a practical solution, but it was awfully vindicating to think about.

Three airport bar vodkas later and she still didn't feel human, but at least she didn't mind so much. She’d sent a few more texts and tweets before she turned her phone off. Even with fingers itching to really let him have it, a part of her knew it was a really terrible idea, that the idiot would only take it as desperation rather than fury and that was absolutely not the image she wanted to project. Besides, she needed to turn it off on the flight anyway, so might as well get to it sooner rather than later.

Two more vodkas on the plane kept the buzz going nicely. Just keeping herself exactly disconnected enough from her feelings that she wasn’t going to explode at a stranger for breathing too loudly near her.

Her fingers shook just a little as she landed and finally turned her phone back on. Fandango hadn’t replied, to either her text messages or her tweets. Yeah, that’s right, asshole, she thought bitterly. Just throw our drama in the world’s face and then go quiet. You think it makes you look like the better person, but a better person would never have gone public with that shit in the first place.

There were messages pouring in. Some of support. Not all of them. Plenty of people patting Fandango on the back for having dropped her. Those she didn’t even want to read. Big E was clearly trying to get a smile out of her at least, so that was something, even though she wasn’t in the mood to be called anyone’s ‘baby doll’. More than a few gay jokes, because wrestling fans were nothing if not predictable. And then… Tyler.

Tyler didn’t appear to know how to string a full sentence together, but the dumb sweetheart was trying, and that was something at least.

_ Did that really just happen _

_ Do you need me to help _

_ I’ve seen him wrestle I’m pretty sure I could take him _

_ Just let me know _

_ Fuck summer _

_ Was he always that much of a dick _

_ Or is this new? _

_ Please tell me this is new you wouldn’t put up with that on the regular would you _

She flicked through her contacts until she found Tyler’s name, and the phone was ringing before she’d made it as far as baggage claim. When he answered, his voice was slow and confused, even by Tyler’s standards, which was saying something. That, at least, made her bite back a smile. Of course, Tyler was a baby, only 26, and had probably forgotten that the device in his pocket could be used for things other than photography and social media.

“You sound good,” Tyler said, a little cautiously. “Surprisingly good.”

“Well, vodka does that.”

“Oh, Summer.” Disgust rang through every syllable, and she could imagine the curl of his lip as vividly as if he was standing right in front of her. “You're better than airport bar vodka, aren't you?”

That finally caused a small crack, and she breathed slowly through the lump in her throat.

“I guess not.”

“Summer, no.” Tyler’s voice was sharp and to the point. “I can be there by morning. I’ll call and make a reservation, I’m not letting you be alone.”

There was no question to it, like he wasn’t really giving her the option to say no. Surprisingly, that was kind of okay. On principle, maybe she should have objected to Tyler making decisions for her, but a shoulder to lean on didn’t sound like the worst idea. And it would be good to find out sooner rather than later if Tyler could even begin to cope with that.

* * *

 

It was only a brunch with a friend, when all was said and done, but less than 24 hours after a breakup there was no way that Summer was going to allow herself to be seen in public with a man looking anything less than perfectly fabulous. That was a nightmare because she’d neglected to repack her luggage after her hair appointment, and she hadn’t exactly been planning on needing to look the hottest she’d looked all year, so there was a preset upper limit without a little bit of creativity.

Only when the Uber pulled up outside did she remember that Tyler was four inches shorter than Fandango, so her choice of shoes was definitely going to make her taller than him. Did that matter? For his ego, probably yes, but did  _ that _ matter? Well, too late now. She wasn’t about to change shoes, dress and make-up just to preserve his precious feelings. He’d just have to deal.

Tyler was there waiting for her when she arrived, which was a surprise in and of itself. He’d always struck her as the fashionably late sort, or at least the sort who used the concept of being fashionably late as an excuse to be disorganized. It was faintly possible that she’d been judging him just a little harshly.

“Oh, darling, you look awful.” Alright, scratch that. So Tyler was every bit as terrible as she’d ever thought. Obviously he’d caught the look in her eye, however, because his eyes widened in that panicked way that they always did when he thought someone worth thinking about was being critical of him, and he raised his hands in a gesture of submission. “That’s - that’s not how I meant it, Summer, really. You look amazing. You just also look -”

“Devastated?” She supplied dully, sliding into her seat and stretching her long legs out under the table. Tyler only nodded.

“Anything to drink to start you two off today?” The waitress was far too chipper for her own good. Every smile was going to cut her tip in half.

“Vodka, neat.”

Tyler glared at her across the table.

“Funny. She means a pair of mimosas.” As the waitress walked away, he leaned in close and hissed, “Summer, it’s not even eleven. You can’t drink neat vodka at this time of the day.”

If the look she shot him was anything close to how it felt, Summer was surprised that Tyler didn’t burst into flames. He actually cowered a little.

“‘About time you found someone else to ride to stardom’,” she repeated Fandango’s words, in a mocking, almost sing-song sort of way. Tyler cringed.

“Did he actually say that to you?”

“No, he didn’t have the guts. He  _ texted  _ that to me. And apparently his ego couldn’t take being ignored for twenty minutes so he had to tell the entire world.” The words tumbled out, bitterly, angrily. That mimosa was taking far too long.

Tyler inhaled sharply. He looked sympathetic, but for once in his life he wasn’t talking. That was, somehow, more of a comfort than if he’d tried to say something nice. The waitress returned with two champagne flutes, but Tyler waved a hand to silence her before she could say anything unbearably cheerful.

_"Grand _ mimosas, and keep them coming. Quinoa salad, and crab omelette.”

Summer quirked an eyebrow at that from across the table. Tyler certainly had found a way to cut through some of the anger she’d been building up over the past 18 or so hours. Not really in the way that she would have preferred, or expected, but at least it was something.

“Did you consider that there were two people at this table, darling?”

Tyler blinked, slowly. He was getting a little better at that, at least, and looked less like a startled baby deer. “That’s why I ordered two meals.”

That wasn’t the point, but the utterly blank look of confusion made her laugh, which was more than she’d expected to be able to do. Tyler’s lip quirked, and he reached across the table to just stroke the back of her hand with his thumb.

The first mimosa went down a little too easily, but when Tyler saw her empty glass he didn't say anything, just swallowed down the rest of his in one mouthful and nodded to the waitress. They ended up sharing the omelette and salad roughly equally, and they were probably quite nice. The Grand Marnier in the subsequent three cocktails left her not quite certain what anything tasted like, but that was the point, wasn't it? So she wouldn't have to feel anything.

Tyler was keeping up with her drink for drink, even though he didn't have any sorrows to drown. That was a nice touch.

He was quite pretty, really. Maybe a little more so when he wasn't trying to be the most extravagantly gorgeous being in the room, and just… being. Still not her type, really, all youth and effort and vanity, but he certainly wasn't anyone she'd ever be embarrassed to be seen with. Wouldn't that be a lovely thing to throw in Fandango’s face? A brunch selfie with a pretty, young thing just hours after he’d replaced her with his own new piece. That would… that...

A memory formed in her mind that was like a glass of ice water to the face. More important than drunk texting, someone should run a public service campaign around using your phone within an hour of waking up in the morning. Summer wasn't even aware of the emotion that must have been written all over her face, until she heard Tyler murmuring from the other side of the table.

“Summer, Summer, darling, even waterproof mascara can only do so much - c’mon, hold it back.”

He didn't ask what was wrong, or try to tell her it wasn't worth crying over. Just a simple, soothing reminder about her makeup. God, who even was this guy?

“Tyler, I think I made a mistake.” Her voice was a lot weaker than she’d intended it to be, but good grief, how could she have been so stupid?

“I know,” Tyler said, with a small apologetic smile. “You were with Fandango at least eleven months too long.”

Eleven months. That was oddly specific, but all Summer could do was shake her head a little breathlessly. He wasn't wrong about the mascara, and the last thing she needed was for word to get back to her ex that she'd returned from brunch resembling a panda.

“Different mistake. God - I tweeted him again this morning.” Before the words were even fully out of her mouth, Tyler’s phone was in his hand. “I guess I thought he wasn't responding to anger so guilt might get him to -”

“Maybe it will work. It's only early yet…” Tyler trailed off as he caught the look in her eye. “No, look - guys like that aren't going to feel guilty. Believe me.”

Summer sighed, carefully patting at her face with a napkin. “He thinks I'm a lovesick fool, doesn't he?”

“Yep.”

Blunt and to the point, and not particularly kind. That was the Tyler she'd been expecting. Still, he patted her hand again, sympathetically. She sighed, heavily, and smiled, a small gesture, but present all the same.

“It’s not the worst thing he could think. Maybe it’ll work out. Means he’ll underestimate me.” Tyler’s smile in return was condescendingly understanding, like he had her all figured out and was just too polite to say so. She tried not to roll her eyes at him.

“I just - I don't even care that he ended things.” Tyler made a quiet, disbelieving noise in his throat, and she amended, softly, “Alright, I'm not exactly thrilled about it. But Twitter, Tyler, it's got me all…”

She trailed off. It wasn't so much that she didn't know where the end of that sentence was going. That was pretty clear. The sheer injustice of it, the cruelty. The  _ needless _ cruelty, at that - she'd thought they'd been on fairly reasonable terms, all things considered. Certainly nothing that would even begin to warrant that kind of spiteful, public breakup. Him fucking someone else, whatever, she could make her peace with that. Well, more or less. Eventually. She’d have an easier time with that part of things if he hadn’t made it all everyone’s business, at least.

It was more that she didn't know why she was telling  _ Tyler,_ of all people, about it. Tyler understood about being performative on social media, and how much something like this could set her back with fans and friends alike, but he also had all the depth of a paddling pool. Oh, he was sweet enough, deep down, and he was trying to be dutiful, but he probably didn't really care. Then again, there he was. Pretty as a picture, pouring grand mimosa after grand mimosa down his throat in the middle of the day, fingers uselessly stroking her hand to at least try to comfort her. 

Their eyes met in the middle of that thought, and her breath caught as she suddenly realized what she’d been about to do. Fandango may have been classless enough to replace her in literal minutes, or sooner, but it would have been wildly unfair to Tyler to turn him into that, when he was the only one who bothered himself to see that she was alright. Maybe that’s what he’d been expecting, come to think of it. Why else would he have been the only one to come out here for her? Well, that was two reasons not to go there.

She tilted her head to press the kiss instead, almost chastely, to his cheek, getting to her feet in a smooth motion. Well, nearly smooth, but Tyler was easily as drunk as she was, so he wouldn't notice.

“I have to get going, darling. Enjoy your afternoon, won't you?” She paused for just a moment, then added, as graciously as she thought she could under the circumstances, “Thanks for this.”


End file.
